


Persephone's Fall

by Cathwren



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Hades and Persephone Mythology Fusion, Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Florist!Lance, Florists, Hades!Shiro, Hades/Persephone - Freeform, Heavy Drinking, It's a hip retelling like all the cool kids write!, Langst, M/M, Magic, Monsters, The Whole Gang will be here eventually, and the rating will go up in later chapters, persephone!Lance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-09-01 09:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16762270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cathwren/pseuds/Cathwren
Summary: Eventually Lance found a door at the end of a badly lit corridor and, hoping it was the bathroom, he unthinkingly shoved it open, the thin golden bangles on his wrists chiming like warning bells.Nausea swept through him and he blindly reached out a hand to lean against the bathroom wall- only to find nothing there. Was he outside? It was too dark to tell. He felt a rush of cold air and blinked, enjoying the sensation of wind against his flushed cheeks.  He’d forgotten that there was a world outside of the club.He heard a growl, a soft snap, and then his eyes fell closed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting date is finally here!!! I had so much fun working on this project with my lovely artists [Julia](http://ofdiamantes.tumblr.com/) who I've worked with on another bang and who I adore completely, and [Vegalocity](http://vegalocity.tumblr.com/) who was always so encouraging and had so many fun ideas <3 You guys were always so kind and I loved seeing your progress and your gorgeous work! And another shout-out to my incredible beta [Cici](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/quietlyobscure) who helped shore up my grammar and cheered all of us on in the group chat <3 
> 
> I've wanted to write this fic for a long time so I'm incredible excited to finally start sharing it. I know I don't have the best track record when it comes to updating fics regularly, but I am really going to push to have new chapters ready every week or so! (Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://wrendeavor.tumblr.com/) if it's been awhile) 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and thanks to the mods of the Shance AU big bang for making this happen!! Happy Shancing!!

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

Lance squinted through the bottom of his empty shot glass, watching the bottles of liquor warp as if seen through a kaleidoscope. He saw nothing but bad decisions among the colorful bar shelves. Perfect.

“Another one!” he grinned, slamming down his makeshift spyglass.

The bartender passed him another shot without a word, and with a flash of dazzling white teeth it was gone.

“How many is that?” Nyma asked, leaning against the bar and raising a slightly smudged eyebrow. She’d tagged along as the responsible friend, but this late into Lance’s downward spiral she was wishing she’d just let Rolo take care of him. “We should go.”

“Not yet.”

Lance pushed off from the counter and ignored the way the ground seemed to swoop up at him, chasing his bedazzled heels. He stumbled and then turned towards his friend, the strobe flash of green backlighting giving him a wicked appearance. “I’ve got dancing to do!” Nyma let out a short huff.

“Lance!”

He flashed her a devilish smile, and was gone before she could climb off her stool.

He was absorbed into the dance floor’s thick crowd, seduced by the booze and the bass and the illusion of distanced responsibilities. Colorful lights and body glitter shifted before his eyes and he felt warm hands against his stomach -- someone clearly showing their appreciation of his bright blue crop top embellished with “daddy” in neon sequins. He didn’t bother trying to see who was touching him, just kept swaying his hips and letting the room spin. He felt hot under the lights and between the sweating bodies, everything a blur as “one more drink” had become a fourth and a fifth and a sixth.

You’re only young once, right?

At some point he felt a tug on his elbow, bright pink nails pressing against bare skin.

“It’s past midnight, I’m going home!” the voice was familiar but Lance couldn’t place a name, registering only a flash of long blond hair and a blue headband. Was that Nyma? Had they come here together? A new song started up and the thoughts left him, carried downstream by the rushing torrent of Katy Perry and too much tequila. He was passed between flirtatious club-goers, loving the attention. He wanted to be wanted. He wanted to forget.

“I love your top!”

“Dance with me.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Lance didn’t remember answering before he was drinking something cold and sweet. He saw dark hair and broad arms. The song changed and everyone started whooping. Lance spilled half the drink onto his shorts but the few swallows he’d managed to choke down twisted his stomach.

Different songs, new dance partners, the gritty taste of bad malt liquor--

It was hours later and Lance was still mid self-destruct, shoving a girl’s hands from his chest and shooting her a clumsy wink. 

He tottered towards the back of the club where there might be a bathroom, body rioting against the abuse it had taken. It took a long time to cross the club: someone squeezed his ass, he had another shot, then he stopped briefly to yell along to one of his favorite songs. Someone pointed him in the wrong direction and a pretty girl with green fake eyelashes told him to get lost when he accidentally walked into the women’s room. But Lance was drunk, and all of this seemed to occur in the same moment, hazy and serene.

Eventually he found a door at the end of a badly lit corridor and unthinking he shoved it open, the thin golden bangles on his wrists chiming like warning bells.

Nausea swept through him and he blindly reached out a hand to lean against the bathroom wall- only to find nothing there. Was he outside? It was too dark to tell. He felt a rush of cold air and blinked, enjoying the sensation of wind against his flushed cheeks. He’d forgotten that there was a world outside of the club.

He heard a growl, a soft snap, and then his eyes fell closed.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

Night was different in Hades than in places where the sun shone, but Shiro could sense the lateness of the hour all the same- in the weight of his bones, in the way the air seemed heavy and thick. Even after so many years with this as his domain, something about the place at night unsettled him.

It was silly-- he was the one that made the night dangerous. He was Death. There was nothing for him to fear. He drew his dark robe closer around himself and squinted towards the spot in the field of asphodel where the portal had been breached, still a short distance away.

Black was already on the scene, wagging her tail and curiously sniffing at whatever must have come stumbling through the doorway. Always his trusty defender, she’d easily beaten him to the break in and was already done investigating. Her hackles weren’t raised and her tail hung relaxed. Not an emergency then, but something else.

He carefully picked his way through the last of the tall purple flowers, and as Shiro watched, Black sat down and licked what he could only assume was the face of the interloper, hidden by the overgrown grass and star shaped petals.

“What did you find, Black?”

She thumped her tail on the ground and whined softly.

As he bent down, the figure on the ground slowly became recognizable, a human it looked like, dressed in skimpy clothing and reeking of alcohol. Mortals were such fragile things. But why had this man’s soul not come in through the main gate? Was he not dead?

He gently pressed his fingers to the boy’s pulse point: still strong. If he wasn’t dead, then how had he made it to this realm? Black whined again and she stared at Shiro with big, pleading brown eyes. He quickly broke his gaze, disliking the way the dog’s whimpers made misplaced guilt curl in his stomach.

Now that he was closer, Shiro could see that the intruder’s skin was dark and that glitter dusted his cheeks- full lips still upturned as if he’d been smiling just before he’d fallen unconscious. And though the human was skinny around the chest and waist, he was tall and sturdy looking.

“What do you think?” he said aloud. Black let out a doggie huff and licked the air.

He summoned his second arm and carefully pulled the boy up off the ground, surprised by the weight and rearranging so that the mortal could lean against his chest. As soon as he started walking towards the castle two bright blue eyes blinked open in the dark, looking up at Shiro in confusion before softening into something else.

“Oh...pretty,” he murmured, breath smelling like tequila.

Shiro blushed without knowing why. 

“Stay still. You’re really drunk” he said gently “I’m getting you somewhere safe.”

“Mmm. Really? I feel pretty safe in your arms,” Lance slurred, attempting a wink. Shiro could only watch as both of the mortal’s eyes closed and opened again in what appeared to be a deliberate manner.

“Right,” he coughed. “You just rest.”

The boy was quiet after that, and as Shiro walked back along the asphodel fields towards his home, several things cleared up in his mind. The boy was definitely too drunk to have entered the realm on purpose through some kind of botched ritual or failed demon summoning attempt; And he was too confused to realize that the grey world around him and the black robed man above him was the arrival of Death. So the best thing to do would be to keep him in the dark, metaphorically, and sneak him back into the mortal world in the morning. If this man saw the underworld in the daytime, he was sure to be driven mad.

He’d hid the portal in the Miami nightclub so he could have easy access to the city above, figuring it was a safe and inconspicuous spot. Only gods or those with godly heritage could open such powerful doorways, and there were hundreds across the world to places where violence or poverty meant Death needed to frequent them often. But now this. A boy with tan skin and bright eyes.

Black padded alongside him in the dark, only stopping when he reached the large iron doorway to his castle.

“You coming in?” he asked her curiously. She didn’t usually spend the night inside, she was a guard dog after all, but he figured that the likelihood of two strange occurrences in one night was slim. And she seemed attached to this human.

She followed him as he carried the boy to one of his guest rooms- huge things that had been empty as long as he’d ruled the realm. The only people that visited them were the maids and manservants that occasionally refreshed the linens. It might be a tad dusty, but he figured it was better than leaving the mortal to sleep outside.

Shiro struggled for a moment with pulling back the covers as he balanced the lanky man in one arm, and then carefully set him down on his side. Gentle hands pulled the covers up to his shoulders, careful not to brush skin. It looked soft. It wasn’t for him. With a quick wave of his hand he was able to produce a glass of water and a small vial of potion that cured headaches, leaving both on the nightstand before turning to leave. Black stayed behind, jumping cat like onto the bed and then lying her huge head on the man’s feet under the blankets.

“Goodnight,” he called lamely from the doorway, unable to convince himself that he was talking to Black, and not to those nice blue eyes.

Lance woke feeling worse than he had in months. Years maybe. Had it really been years since the spring break where Rolo trashed his apartment and made him play beer pong with watermelon flavored vodka? He was getting old. Fuck.

He felt bile rise in his throat and he tried to breathe, staving off the inevitable. He’d wait to puke in the shower like a respectable drunk, thank you very much.

Carefully he peaked his eyes open, unsure what he was going to find and not at all surprised to see he was in an unfamiliar bedroom. Awesome. Fantastic decision number seven billion and one.

Moving slowly he sat up and was grateful to see water on the nightstand. But next to it was something that looked like it was straight out of a renaissance fair. Was it a potion? Oh god, who had he slept with last night? Probably some edgelord with a World of Warcraft obsession. Gross.

It took a long time but finally he had made his way to standing, drank from the water glass, and made it over to the dresser to look in the mirror. Was he expected to just sneak out of this person’s house without being noticed? If so, his wrinkly beer stained “daddy” crop top and booty shorts weren’t exactly his first choice in “walk of shame” apparel. It brought a whole new level of meaning to the word “shame”. His feet ached at the thought of putting his heels on again.

“Fuck,” he said softly, staring at bleary eyes in his pathetic reflection. His skin was greasy and his hair was disgusting, the only upside he could think of was that his ass wasn’t sore. He must have either topped or slept with a girl, but neither of those options really seemed all that likely considering the way he acted the night before. What he remembered of it anyway. “Come on McClain. One awkward conversation and then you can go hate yourself at home.”

The door creaked as he hesitantly pushed it open, feeling cold when his bare stomach met with the chilly morning air of the hallway. His skin prickled and he stared down what could only be described as a mansion sized corridor.

_What the fuck._ He thought, trying to take in the black marble floors, the pedestals bearing greek vases, and the golden framed artwork depicting feasts and battles. Had he fallen asleep in the Met? Was he in Europe? The bedroom he’d woken up in was big but this was something else entirely. This corridor alone was the width of his entire apartment.

He wrapped his arms around himself and anxiously started walking, wishing that his cell phone wasn’t dead in his pocket. One end of the hall turned out of sight and the other ended in a huge wooden door. Praying it would provide an escape Lance hurried in that direction, ducking his head and praying for just another half minute of invisibility before his one night stand tried to invite him to stay for breakfast. Lance wasn’t above a sugar daddy, but the caliber of this place could only belong to someone who was bad news- a drug dealer or a sex trafficker or something. With a quick push the wooden door swung open, much lighter than he’d anticipated, but to his disappointment it didn’t lead outside. And he was no longer alone.

The huge room was framed in plush curtains and intricate tapestries, all of them looking centuries old with golden thread and faded shades of indigo. A long table, the sort of thing kings might dine at in a Charlemagne documentary, took up most of the room’s center, complete with several large flower arrangements, though Lance didn’t recognize the blooms. To make things even more surreal, at one end, reading a newspaper and holding a fork, was a bemused looking man with a strong jaw and a missing arm.

Lance immediately felt himself flush, still holding on to his bare stomach and trying desperately not to stare.

“Oh--I’m so sorry--I was just looking for, uh, the door.” He said lamely. He wouldn’t typically admit to his dates that he was trying to get away, but all common sense had left him at the sight of broad shoulders and inquisitive grey eyes. “I’ll be going--it was nice, er, meeting you?” Lance cleared his throat and started backing away.

“Wait.”

The man’s tone was soft and polite, not a demand, only a request. But Lance heard the power behind it all the same.

“Yeah?”

“Would you like a change of clothes? I will bring you home after you’ve had a chance to bathe and eat.” the man said earnestly. “What’s your name?”

Had Lance not even introduced himself last night? Was he that drunk?

He felt anger simmering in his gut. What had this guy meant by bringing him home for a fuck when Lance clearly wasn’t sober enough to say his own name, let alone consent.

“No, I’m going. Now.” he snapped, trying to look confident despite the mortifying text on his shirt. “I don’t eat breakfast with guys who think it’s okay to prey on people too shitfaced to say ‘yes’.”

The man’s face paled and he quickly held up his hand in placation.

“Oh-god-no it’s not like that,” he stammered, a blush rising to his cheeks. “No, you were drunk, that’s true, but I brought you back here because you were practically unconscious. I couldn’t just leave you at the... club. But I didn’t lay a hand on you. I promise.”

Lance felt his headache pound. He raised an accusatory eyebrow.

“Are you sure that’s the whole story?”

The guy frowned, suddenly seeming a bit irritated, as if he had the right to be inconvenienced by this.

“Yes. I’m not the one who was blackout drunk. I brought you back here, put you up in a guest room, and then I left.”

Lance desperately tried to remember anything that had happened after he’d gone to the bathroom the night before, but it all came up blank. Maybe that really had been what happened. Who was he to say? And he did feel fine. Not like he’d had sex at least. Especially considering the man sitting there and casually munching on french toast was definitely hung, and a top, and Lance’s ass wasn’t sore at all.

Feeling even more embarrassed, Lance dropped his gaze.

“Right. Well. I am going to go. Thanks for being a good Samaritan I guess. Drink responsibly.”

“Look, it’s fine, but you really should clean up and change. My name is -” there was a slight pause, “Shiro.”

“Oh. Lance.”

Shiro nodded and stood confidently from the table, looking for all the world like he belonged in the grand dining hall though he wore nothing more than grey sleep pants and a faded hoodie.

“Here, I think I have some sweatpants that’ll fit you.” he said, offering a placating smile. “This way.”

Lance glanced longingly at the ground, wishing it would rise up and swallow him whole, but when nothing happened he caved and started following Shiro out of the dining hall and down a long and luxuriously decorated corridor. At least his walk of shame would be cozier.

“So….this place,” Lance squinted at a glass case holding what appeared to be holly leaves cast in gold.

Shiro stiffened and hurried his pace. “Oh, uh, I’m a collector of sorts.” He lied, glad that Lance couldn’t see his face. “Private art collection.”

“Right.” Lance studied Shiro’s posture. Definitely some shady business going on with this guy. He was probably the leader of some kind of crime syndicate. Who had houses this enormous in downtown Miami?

They rounded a corner and the furnishings were more modest, (though they still looked like they cost more than what Lance paid in rent every month,) and then Shiro stopped in front of a stately pair of large oak doors. He casually pulled one open and ducked inside as if he didn’t live in a castle. As if everyone’s bedroom door was eight feet tall and decorated by carved wooden cherubs. Lance followed, his curiosity outweighing his nerves.

Inside was a large and well decorated parlor, a few doors connecting to it, one of which was open and revealed what looked to be an enormous bed with red and black sheets. Lance pictured himself stretched out on it, chest heaving, toes curling as-- god. He needed to sober up and figure out where he’d left his pride the night before. Probably under the bar.

“Here.” Shiro walked back over from where he’d gone to the dresser, and he handed Lance a stack of soft white and grey clothing. “Change. Do you think you can find your way back to the dining room from here?”

“Sure. No problem.”

The clothes smelled like charcoal and citrus.

Shiro nodded, and for a moment Lance thought that his cheeks had gone a little pink. “The bathroom is through there. Help yourself to any products you need.”

And then the man was gone.

Lance set down the pile of clothes on a nearby coffee table, the top of which was white marble cut through with what looked like gold. The whole place looked like something out of Downton Abbey, but if possible, older and even more luxurious. Shiro had left Lance in what appeared to be a whole private wing, connected by this central parlor. He wandered towards one of the shut doors, eyes tracing the intricate olive leaf carvings around the door frame and the black iron handle set with gemstones.

Where did all of those doors lead to? A bedroom, a bathroom, a closet- sure. But there were still two more after accounting for those. He couldn’t imagine what else someone would need access to in their private living space.

Maybe there was a sex dungeon. He pulled his hand back, worried suddenly that if he opened the door Shiro would know. Maybe he was unwittingly letting himself be trapped in some awful Fifty Shades of Grey scenario. Could an opened door be considered a contract?

He thought of Shiro’s strong jawline and muscular arm and momentarily allowed himself to consider that prospect. Would he really complain when Shiro looked like _that_?

_God, get a grip McClain._

He resolutely stalked back to the coffee table and picked up the clothing, done with his snooping and resolving to clean up quickly and get the hell out of there. But the bathroom made him stop again, breath caught in his throat.

Everything was marble in there too, spotless and white with flecks of gold. Rich purple bath towels were folded neatly on the counter, a set of expensive colognes and face washes sitting in a silver tray near the sink. He knew it was the sort of richness that could only come from having blood on your hands, but Lance had grown up barely middle class and something deep in his chest wanted to run his hands over the counters and see if the soft white drapes softening the harsh stone walls were really made of silk.

_Focus._

He filled the tub partway with hot water; It was so deep and wide that filling it even enough to cover his knees would take too long, and he didn’t want to give Shiro the impression that he was lingering. If Shiro thought he was enjoying himself, it would make things worse. Shiro would feel he had a right to make him stay.

So he scrubbed quickly, trying not to notice how the soaps smelled amazing, like lemon and spices and ash- a blend of summer and fall so perfectly suited to October. When he dried off, his skin felt silky smooth and his hair was clean. He didn’t touch the face lotions. He needed to get out that place.

He dried off and inspected the pile of clothing. Shiro had even included fresh boxers. Dark, too big, soft. Were they his? He had to fold down the elastic at the waist so they wouldn’t slip down his hips- the same thing he’d done to his uniforms in middle school gym class.

Dressed in slightly baggy lounge-wear and feeling his hangover receding slightly, placated by his offering of hygiene, he went back to the dining room.

Shiro was sitting in the same place as before, and this time when Lance entered he was met with a friendly nod instead of surprise.

Lance cleared his throat.

“Would you like something to eat?”

“What?”

“There’s french toast already made up, but if there’s something else you’d like, I can order it for you.”

“Order it?”

Shiro grimaced.

“I’m not much of a cook. I have chefs.”

“Right.” Of course this man had personal chefs. Plural. This was so Twilight Zone.

“Well?”

“I’m not really hungry.” Lance lied. Eating would probably make him nauseous anyway. His hangover recovery usually consisted of him eating microwave pizza on his couch and groaning when his stomach protested the grease.

“You consumed a lot of alcohol last night. You need something else in your system,” Shiro said gently.

It was almost like he cared how Lance was doing. Maybe that wasn’t so odd considering that, if he believed the guy’s story, he’d rescued Lance at the bar just to make sure a stranger didn’t pass out in the street. Hesitantly he sat a few places down from Shiro, studying the polished wood grain of the table.

“Alright...French toast is fine.”

He picked up a fork and clumsily served himself a slice, the aroma of cinnamon and sugar hitting him all at once. His stomach reacted strongly to it, but whether the reaction was positive or negative Lance couldn’t say.

He ate slowly, a little resentful that it was the best thing he’d had in months and he was too anxious to really enjoy it. He licked a dot of syrup off his finger and then set his fork aside.

“I think I better head out,” Lance announced, standing up out of his chair after only half of his coffee had been drained.

“I’ll escort you. I live a little out of the way. It’ll be easier if I drop you off.”

Lance frowned. Shiro’s face told him this was nonnegotiable.

“I can just call an Uber.” That was a lie. His phone was very dead.

“A what? Never mind. It’s no trouble. Let me help you, Lance.”

The way Shiro’s lips curled softly around his name made his heart squeeze, but his mind, though foggy from all of the partying, saw Shiro for what he was. A trap. A beautiful, dangerous, lying trap. But recently Lance had been easy prey.

“Fine.”

Shiro showed Lance outside, his front yard nondescript and with an almost greyish tinge, so different than the trappings inside, and Lance waited for Shiro’s car to come around. It was cold, colder than Miami should be, even in October, and Lance was glad for the borrowed clothing.

The car was small and grey and as un-identifiable as the landscape. Maybe it was European or something. Rich people had weird cars. Swallowing his pride, Lance climbed in, sitting in the backseat rather than the front.

“Where do you live?”

“Over by Winwood. Off I-95.”

Lance may be an idiot who gets blackout drunk in unsafe situations and ends of being brought home by strangers, but he wasn’t the sort of idiot to hand out his address to guys who have probably put out hits on people before.

Shiro accepted his answer without question and began driving. Lance glanced down to see if his phone had miraculously charged, but faced with the grumpy “plug me in” notification, he slid it back in his pocket.

In the few seconds it had taken him to look at his phone, the scenery outside the car windows had changed completely. Neatly manicured lawns and tall upper middle class family homes lined the streets, but nothing hinted to a Gothic mansion lurking in their midst. Shiro’s knuckles gripped tight to the steering wheel, his shoulders tense.

Everything about this was weird. But in twenty minutes Lance could take some advil and pass out. He just had to keep himself from getting skinned alive for a little bit longer.

That’s when Lance noticed Shiro’s arm. Namely, that there was now a second one.

It appeared to be a prosthetic but, like with the car, it was almost as if its outlined was blurred. It looked grey and simple, large but proportional to the bicep above the amputation. And it seemed to operate exactly like a normal hands, the fingers articulating perfectly as Shiro tapped the wheel in time to his turn signal when they stopped at a light. The more he studied it the more it didn’t make sense to him so finally he looked away.

Lance navigated him to a coffee shop a few blocks from his apartment, glad to see familiar landmarks and apprehensive as he waited for the other shoe to drop. Everything in life, he’d learned, was an exchange. Shiro must expect something for this generosity. Lance wasn’t sure he was ready to pay that price.

The car stopped and he heard the audible click of the doors unlocking.

“Thanks again,” Lance said quickly, opening the door. _Almost free!_

“It’s the least I could do. It was nice meeting you,” Shiro said politely.

The man’s smile was soft and for a moment Lance believed he could see a flash of loneliness in it- something a little lost.

“Yeah, for sure.” Lance tucked his hands into the sweatpants pockets and ducked out of the car, the heat of the Miami morning making him sweat almost as soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

He was just about to open his mouth to ask how he should return the borrowed clothing when Shiro offered a small shy wave and pulled away, dark car disappearing around the corner before Lance could speak.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left warm reviews on the first chapter!! I hope you enjoy this one as well! <3

Nyma (8:23 am): i swear to god mcclain pls tell me ur alive

Nyma (8:56 am): u better be asleep 

Nyma (8:56 am): did you make it home okay?? 

Nyma (8:58 am): whatever i hope you got laid at least. Let me know when ur alive sometime.

Lance (10:45 am): hey sorry. I’m fine. Sorry I got so wasted.

Lance sat curled on his second-hand sofa, blanket across his lap, his laptop and phone both charging on the cushions beside him. He debated whether to continue his Lord of the Rings re-watch or cave in to his hungover desire to watch Diners. Drive-ins, and Dives as his laptop updated with a noisy whir of its fan. 

He felt bad for making Nyma worry. He felt worse that he’d been in such a bad place that she’d left him drunk at a nightclub. 

In his defense, it had been a really shitty week. 

Lance was no stranger to failed relationships. He got it. He was young, he was talkative, he was handsome, lots of people wanted to date him. His main issue was that lots of people wanted to date him  _ for a little while.  _ None of his partners took him seriously. They saw a twenty-four year old with long legs and a pretty face and assumed that he just wanted sex, or company, or a short term fling. 

Which Lance was definitely down for. 

But he longed for commitment. Everytime he found a new partner he daydreamed about settling down with them, wondered if they’d want to come to his parents house for Christmas or if they would move in together when his lease ended in a few months. He was such an idiot. The most recent guy had been really cool too! They’d dated for three weeks and then he’d ghosted Lance, dropping off the face of the world: blocked on instagram, not answering texts or snapchats, gonzo. 

_ So fucking rude.  _

So Lance had wanted to get drunk. Because he didn’t do break-ups well. Everyone he’d dated for the past year hadn’t wanted to see him after more than a handful of dates. The sex was great, the conversations were fun, he’d feel the chemistry, and then they’d be “too busy” or “not looking for a relationship” which was code for: Not Looking For a Relationship  _ With him.  _ And honestly, that did shit to his self confidence as much as he tried to hide it. 

His phone buzzed.

Nyma (10:51 am): whatevs. Going out again 2nite?

The thought of drinking again made Lance gag. 

Lance (10:51 am): No way. Sleeping this one off until further notice. 

He felt like such an idiot! He’d acted like a child, throwing a crop-top, booze-bender tantrum. This was why no one stayed around him for very long. Even Nyma and her friend Rolo only hung out with him when they were going to do something. They never wanted to just talk or hang out. He was only fun when he was drinking or dancing or having sex. 

Lance curled in on himself, bringing the blanket up to his shoulders, tucking his feet into the fleece cocoon. He needed to figure his life out. He needed to stop dating assholes. He picked up his phone and deleted Tindr and Grindr both. There. Done. 

He’d meet his person, he knew he would. And he’d do it the old fashioned way! In person and without it feeling like a weird extended hook up. 

Lance hit play on his laptop and Guy Fieri’s hyper-jovial voice filled the small apartment, replacing Lance’s disgust for himself with disgust for food crimes committed across the country. 

  
  


* * *

It was a week later and Lance hadn’t seen or heard anything about Shiro. 

Even a cursory google search turned up nothing, just a few listings on Japanese business men, which seemed possible based on the salaries, until he clicked on the wikipedia pages and it was clear the men were all in their seventies. 

The underwear, sweatpants, and hoodie that he’d borrowed from the man sat folded on his dresser, clean out of his laundry hamper and staring at him every time he thought about going out clubbing or trying another dating app. 

They said: You Barely Survived The Last Time You Were A Dumbass, Maybe Try Being An Adult.

So he went to work and cooked meals that weren’t just grilled cheese or quesadillas with guacamole on top to serve as a “vegetable”. He vacuumed his bedroom and resolved to go to the public library down the street that he’d been meaning to visit since he’d moved into his apartment a year earlier. 

Lance could be more than a horny Cuban-American bisexual. 

So as he sat behind the counter at “The Enchanted Florist **”** he tried very hard to stay on pinterest looking at low carb pizza crust recipes rather than going on another google hunt to find information on Shiro.

It had to have been a fake name, right? He wouldn’t be foolish enough to give Lance his real name. Sadly he couldn’t just google, “rich Miami mob boss hot” and sort through google images. That would be fruitless. And also completely asinine. 

(He’d done it twice the day before.) 

The strange man wouldn’t leave his head. He’d been so kind...who was he? Why couldn’t he fully remember his face? It was like the details of that morning were cloudy from something other than the hangover. Had he been drugged? 

He remembered the strange vial of liquid that had been left on his nightstand while he slept. 

Yikes.

The bell above the door chimed and he quickly closed google. 

“Good afternoon and welcome to “The Enchanted Florist **”** . How can I help you?” 

The person who had just walked in was tall with dark hair, features hidden under a hoodie that was unnecessary considering the heat outside. He didn’t pay Lance’s greeting any attention, and honestly Lance preferred it that way. He forced himself to pin an article about at-home cardio routines to his workout page and not go onto the local “puppies for adoption” Facebook group. He was getting good at being responsible. 

The patron slowly headed towards the back corner where the orchids sat in painted clay pots, new arrivals Lance had carried in a week before, some of his favorites since the daffodils had gone out of season.So when he heard the distinctive sound of a pot falling and spilling dirt across the floor with an alarming crack, he jumped up hurrying towards the noise.

“Excuse me?” Lance said, trying to sound polite and not irritated. “The signs say to get assistance if you’d like to look at-”

He froze.

The figure he’d glanced at by the door looked inhuman as it stood in the center of the store’s aisle, humped in a strange way as if its body had been broken and remodeled into something grotesque and writhing. And though its face was still hidden by the hood, Lance could feel its gaze on him. 

The thing started shuffling forward, not so much a walk as a weird squelching stumble, losing height but appearing to widen, the mass of its body rearranging in a way no living creature should be able to contort. He knew it was coming for him.

“U-uh, excuse me, I-”

It jerked forwards, faster than before, and Lance let out a small squeak as a hideous noise, somewhere between a yell and a car crash, emanated from the horrific being and rattled through the store. The nearby plants all shivered in their pots, rattling as if struck by a harsh wind. Lance’s ears ached at the sound and his eyes started watering in panic.

Before he could process any of it, what the thing was or why it was in the flower shop of all places, Lance bolted towards the check-out counter, shakily snatching up a pair of gardening shears as a weapon. 

“Get out!” He yelled, trying to sound authoritative around the quaking in his voice. He watched in withdrawn horror as the creature slowly slumped around the corner and into sight again. 

“Out!” 

The awful screaming noise came again, and Lance cringed, holding the sharp scissors out in front of his chest, wanting so badly to close his eyes and let it all be over with.

Then suddenly whatever the thing was straightened up as if somewhere in its weirdly soft body it had grown a new spine, and with the same rattling scream it fled the shop faster than Lance had thought it could move. He flinched as it ran past the check-out counter, hip smacking hard against a display stand to his left as he jerked away.

The bell above the shop’s door chimed again, the whole encounter over in a matter of moments.

The sun coming through the windows was deceptively warm and happy. Normal. Had he imagined the whole thing?

Despite his best judgement Lance crept towards the front door, still holding the shears in a white-knuckled fist. He slowly opened it, wincing at the jingling bell, and looked up and down the street. 

There!

The misshapen figure was still moving fast, faster than it should be able to move, almost as it were being chased. Lance felt a stab of icy fear in his chest, and without realizing that he’d begun to tremble he looked the other direction, squinting at the half dozen pedestrians milling about the city square and trying to see if anyone looked off. 

There was a flash of movement and Lance sucked in a breath. 

Dark hair with a shock of white, broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Silvery pink scar across the nose. 

“Shiro!” 

The word came unbidden out of Lance’s mouth and he watched the man flinch, head darting around. Their eyes locked for a brief moment and then Shiro was disappearing into an alley more than a block away. Lance took two quick steps down the sidewalk, wanting to chase him down and get answers, but then he stopped. He was working. He couldn’t go stalking a hitman. Not when his manager wasn’t around to guard the register, at least. 

Resigned, he stepped back in the shop, desperately wishing he could turn the deadbolt. 

It took him a few minutes to calm down. Shakily tucking the shears into his front apron pocket and slowly going to the aisle with the orchids, half expecting some sort of black ooze to be coating the floor.

But everything was peaceful, one poor plant smashed on white linoleum. 

Lance knelt and gently scooped it up. The root system was still intact, and though the stem was broken it would probably recover in time. So he went to work carefully repotting it and bringing to the back room where it could get extra attention, sweeping up the spilled dirt and nervously rearranging the remaining plants.

Was Shiro the one who had chased off the monster? What was the thing that had come in? Had it been human? Had Shiro sent it? 

When everything was clean again he sat behind the register on his wooden stool, one hand staying curled around the handle of a trowel in his pocket, flinching everytime the radio popped with static. 

* * *

  
  


Shiro sighed and shook his head, stepping into a coffee shop a few blocks away and half-heartedly ordering a mocha. 

Lance worked in a flower shop. Of course he did. If his research hadn’t already confirmed it, his profession did. Lance must be Demeter’s lost daughter. Or son, as it turned out. 

Nothing else made sense. Only someone with godly blood could enter a portal like the one in the club, and according to rumors, Demeter had hidden a child on earth about two decades before. They even shared the same warm dark skin. If Lance was a sprite or a fairy or some other magical creature, he would have shown signs of illness being in the underworld, those sort of spirits couldn’t stand the dark energy, but Lance had seemed fine. Hungover and bashful, but not like his essence was being eaten away by the souls of the undead.

And then there was the Shapeshifter. It shouldn’t be this far South, and the only reason it would be is if it had been given a target. It was after Lance. Along with who knows what else.

There was a reason Demeter had chosen to hide her child. The children of gods tended to die young and messily, a tasty meal for monsters, or the target of other gods who liked to use kids as bargaining chips in their ceaseless competition for power. Until now Lance had probably remained unknown by the rest of the immortals. But after entering the gate to Hades, it must have awoken or revealed the legacy in him in some way. 

Which left Shiro sitting in a nearby cafe, unsure of how to handle the situation. Lance would need protection. It was likely that there would be more to come after the Shapeshifter. But he also didn’t want to tell the boy what he was or who he was. It would be better if he remained ignorant. Then he’d have a chance at being happy. 

But he couldn’t lurk in Miami and play bodyguard forever. Especially not after being seen. Gods, Lance probably thought he was some kind of stalker. Or worse, that he was the one trying to do him harm.

He took a sip of the warm drink still debating what to do. 

“Excuse me?”

He looked up to see a girl with long dark blonde hair holding a laptop in one arm and a coffee in the other hand. 

“Mind if I share the table?”

He offered a polite nod and then looked down at his cup as she set to work, opening her laptop and starting to type. 

Normally he’d go to Keith with these sort of issues, but as kind as Ares was, and as close as they were, going to the god of war with this sort of information might start something he wasn’t ready to finish. Shiro could talk to Hunk? Maybe he’d write him a note. 

Resolving to reach out when he returned to his rooms in Hades, Shiro looked out the window at the city suburb. He remembered the panic and the desperation he’d seen in Lance’s eyes as he stood in front of the shop, white apron and pink dress shirt bright in the Florida sun. He’d looked so scared. Shiro hadn’t felt that awful in a long time.

* * *

  
  


Nyma (3:45): omg im at Jitters and there’s a gorg guy here

Nyma (3:45): built like a brick shit house damn

Lance looked down at his phone as it buzzed on the counter, almost scared to take his eyes off the door. But nothing else had happened since the strange almost-attack, in fact no one had been in. Which was good since over the last hour he’d had a quiet panic attack and then eaten most of a bag of cheez-its. 

It was Nyma. He wasn’t sure he had the patience for her at that moment.

Lance (3:53): rn’t u supposed to b gay?

Nyma (3:53): i am but that doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes and u need 2 get over Connor. You should take your break and come talk to him

Lance (3:55): bc that’s not creepy at all

Nyma (3:57): not if ur subtle about it! I’m sitting across from him at one of the big tables. Come hang out with me and make eyes at him. Ur annoying when ur single.

Lance felt her comment like a punch to the gut and he set down his phone for a moment to stare at the ceiling. She could really be an asshole sometimes.

Lance (4:02): asshole.

He heard shuffling in the back room and the clank of one of their wire carts and his heart-rate went from light jog to pole vault. 

“Ella?”

“Yeah, I’m back here!” His manager called, rattling her keys and shuffling in the greenhouse part of the shop. She must have come in through the back. “Everything good up there?”

Lance swallowed.

“Yeah...Someone knocked over an orchid. It’s under the grow-lights with the baby succulents now.” 

“Okay I’ll take a look.” She finally emerged, her hair a bit of a frizzy mess and her apron far dirtier than Lance’s mostly pristine white one. 

“Is it okay if I take my break now?” Lance asked, pocketing his phone with an internal scowl. Stupid Nyma and her stupid plotting. He wasn’t going to go flirt with some random guy...not without more information at least. 

“Yeah, sure! You can take off actually, if it’s been slow, I’m sure I can tend to the backroom stuff and come out if we get any customers.”

“Really? Thanks.” Lance breathed.

“You still good to open tomorrow?”

“Of course!” Trying not to look too eager he grabbed his backpack and put away his laptop and untied his apron, relieved to get as far from his paranormal encounter as possible. He remembered the look in Shiro’s grey eyes and shivered. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

Lance (4:15): fine what does he look like

Nyma (4:17): ha knew u were thirsty for it

Nyma (4:20): he’s really big, pretty muscular. He’s got a prosthetic arm and a scar on his nose but it’s kinda badass. Lots of black. Might be goth? But maybe just emo. I think his hair is dyed. Looks older. Maybe 30? But that’s your type lol. Also he’s def drinking somethn with chocolate so he probs has a sweet tooth. 

Nyma (4:22): if u get a sugar daddy out of this i want a cut

Lance read the texts as he started walking towards the shop, taking the shortcut around Eighth Ave. 

He stopped walking as he processed Nyma’s words, quickly apologizing in Spanish when Mrs. Hernandez from his apartment building ran into him from behind. 

Nyma was describing Shiro. His Shiro. Was she safe? Why was he in Jitters? It was a good Cuban coffee shop but it wasn’t like it was the fancy sort of place that would attract mafia attention. If that’s what Shiro was, anyway. 

He swallowed and started walking again, quicky, sweating in his collared shirt. He needed answers. 

* * *

  
  


Shiro finished his mocha and left the table to throw away his paper cup and drop a dollar in the store’s tip jar. It was a cute place, with bright yellow curtains and mosaics hung on the walls. He never spent much time outside of the underworld. It was a nice change to see some sunlight. 

But there were things only he could attend to, and Black would be wanting her dinner soon. 

As he stepped out onto the busy sidewalk a flash of something pink knocked into his shoulder and then sharply recoiled. 

Lance.

He was clutching his phone, having clearly been looking down at it rather than watching the door of the coffee shop, and his expression was dazed and fearful. The idea that he may come off as threatening to the cute stranger made Shiro’s stomach turn.

“Lance.”

“...Shiro...good to see you. Again.”

“And you.” 

Their eyes met, blue and grey both cold despite the warm sunlight. Shiro moved a little further from the door and then glanced up the street.

“Are you looking for that thing?” Lance asked, speaking quickly and sharply, “Don’t want to finish me off yourself?”

Shiro’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I have no desire to see you hurt, Lance. I was here today by coincidence.”

“Right.”

“Do you not trust me?”

“Trust a guy I met a week ago when I was unconscious? Not particularly.” Lance shoved his hands in his jean pockets and started fidgeting anxiously with his keys. 

“I delivered you home safe.”

“Ah, and for that you deserve an award for chivalry,” Lance muttered to himself. 

Shiro heard the derisive comment and took a deep breath. 

“Well. Always nice to see you.” He offered a grim smile and started to head towards the South end of the neighborhood where’d he’d hidden his car. 

“Wait!” 

The florist’s arm shot out, lightly gripping Shiro’s bicep, the look of annoyance from before now replaced with fear and confusion. 

“What was that?”

Shiro squirmed. 

“What was what?”

“The thing. In the shop. I know you saw it. You were following it. Or following me, maybe.”

“I wasn’t-” There was so much Shiro couldn’t share. If he told Lance even part of the truth he’d be dragged into this nonsense. Forced to play the childish games Shiro had been subject to for centuries. “It doesn’t matter. It is gone now.”

“You’re not answering my question!” The man’s voice was loud, louder than Shiro would like it to be in public. 

“This isn’t the place Lance. Or the time. It would be best if you pretended it never happened.”

“I was attacked by a fucking shambling mound and you want me to forget about it?” Lance crossed his arms, stepping in close. “I want answers. In short sentences. No excuses.”

Shiro felt something behind his eyes throb, a headache rising to the surface. But when he looked at the defiant young man, he wasn’t sure how he could to escape without giving him exactly what he wanted. 

“Fine.” he said with a sharp intake of breath. “But not here. Follow me.”

Despite not knowing the area Shiro was able to make out a shopping plaza half a block down that was set into a courtyard, and to his relief it was mostly empty, a bed of dying flowers and a broken fountain the only noteworthy scenery. He sat on the low concrete edge of the water feature, stretching his long legs out on the red brick. 

Lance sat stiffly beside him.

“The person who entered your shop was...an old enemy of mine. I was tailing him. He owes me money,” Shiro lied smoothly. “I worry that he might have seen me drop you off the other day and thought he could use you for leverage against me.”

Lance’s eyes remained narrowed and calculating, but he nodded slightly, processing what Shiro had said. 

“Why does he owe you money?”

Shiro blanched. 

“Uh. From an art sale. An auction? I was selling one of my...tapestries.”

“...Right.”

“Anyhow, I took care of it. He shouldn’t bother you again. And if he does, call the authorities and stay in a public space.” 

Lance’s hands twitched and Shiro saw that some of the boy’s anxiety was back. 

“I’m sorry that you got mixed up in this,” he said genuinely. It was the only thing he hadn’t lied about. “You seem like a good person. And for that reason you should probably stay away from me.”

“How edgelord of you.” Lance mumbled.

“Edge Lord? I’m unfamiliar with that title.”

Lance stared at Shiro for a moment and then his face twisted into a smile, a soft peel of laughter escaping wide lips. 

“Are you serious?”

“Yes?”

Lance rolled his eyes but he was still smiling, some of his annoyance and paranoia gone for the moment. Shiro watched as his shoulders loosened and his eyes sparkled a little in the sun. Over the boy’s pink shirted shoulder he watched as the dying milkweeds slowly started perking up at the sound, their little lilac bell blossoms leaning towards the ignorant demigod. Shiro smiled.

“I didn’t know you could smile,” Lance teased suddenly, eyes latched onto the older man’s face. 

Shiro felt himself flush. 

“I’m only...human.” He corrected himself at the last second. Lance noticed. 

“Barely. You’re very strange.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No, it’s fine.” Lance’s guard was up again, as quickly as it had come down, and Shiro was left wishing he had better been able to keep the conversation light. 

“Well. I had better get going. Like I said, being seen with me could cause trouble.”

“Because of your...art buyers?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you just don’t want your wife to see?” Lance said, one side of his mouth desperately trying to smirk through a straight face.

Shiro laughed, but in his chest he felt something darken.

“I don’t have a wife.”

Lance nodded, and though it could have been Shiro’s imagination, he thought he felt eyes flicker up and down his body, just once. He cleared his throat. 

“Take care, Lance.”

“Wait!” Lance stood and reached for his bicep again, but his hand stopped short. Shiro irresponsibly wished he hadn’t. The heat of Lance’s hand against his muscles had been exhilarating. “We don’t really trust cops around here. And they take hours to show up for anything this far South of I-95, if they show up at all.”

“Oh.” Shiro wasn’t sure to say. 

“Give me your number.”

“What?”

“If that guy comes back I don’t want to call 911 and hope for the best.” Lance held his hand out palm up, waiting. 

Feeling a little like he didn’t have a choice in the matter Shiro opened his phone’s contact application and passed it over. When Lance handed it back it was clear that he’d texted himself. The contact name was saved as “Lance (Too Young To Die, Thanks)”. 

Shiro wasn’t sure whether to scowl or laugh. 

“Okay. Bye, Mr.Bad News.” Lance teased quietly, giving Shiro a last long look before hurrying from the courtyard. 

Shiro stared at the contact name for a moment and erased Lance’s annotation, replacing it with “(Persephone)”. 

* * *

Nyma (4:36): Aww booo he’s leaving

Nyma (4:36): you’ll have to be faster than that mcclain


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all and Happy New Year! Sorry for the wait but I hope you enjoy the update! Lance will start getting some real answers soon I promise <3 Let me know what you think in the comments!

Lance wasn’t typically a superstitious person. He wasn’t the sort of guy who leapt over sidewalk cracks or left salt on windowsills. He thought black cats were cute instead of dangerous and picked pocket change up off the street regardless of its facing. 

But in the last few days he’d started following every rule in the book. 

Ever since the attack he’d felt as if he were being watched. He jumped at loud sounds and flinched at shadows in the dark. He’d begun leaving the light on in his room at night and had even drug out the candle of St. Joseph his mother had gifted him when he’d left home. 

His Catholic upbringing had done just enough to make him feel guilty that he didn’t have any matches in his apartment, but not guilty enough to procure some. So he just left the candle by the stove. Maybe the heat from his dinner would give the general idea. (Sorry Joseph).

He thought about texting Shiro. 

But what would he say? “Hey, it’s me Lance, and I’m scared out of my mind and I think you should do something about it”? No. He didn’t need that weirdo barging in on his life. Again. 

It was his day off and in an effort to stay away from his neighborhood, he’d spent most of the day at the laundromat further downtown and then getting groceries at the better grocery store close to the shopping district. But now he was back from his errands, and even though it was early evening, it felt dark. 

He was being dumb. What had happened the other day was a fluke. Nothing was going to happen to him.

“Chill, McClain,” he muttered to himself. 

He made dinner and ate it at the little breakfast bar next to the window, looking past the fire escape at the warm brick buildings that rose around him. The ocean glittered a dark indigo in the distance, sand and palm trees waving at him from downtown Miami where people were no doubt getting their club on. 

Any other week and he would probably be out there with them. He hadn’t been to a good beach party since New Years; but there was that whole ‘being a responsible adult’ thing. Some adults could probably go out clubbing and still have some dignity left to take home after.

Not Lance.

So he stayed in with his unlit candle and his abundance of house plants. 

“I should get a dog,” he sighed to himself. He never thought he’d miss having roommates. 

Something clanged harshly from below the kitchen’s window and Lance froze mid-bite. It was probably just a neighbor taking their trash out to the dumpster. Nothing to get freaked out about. 

A bubble bath. That would do wonders for him right now. He could play some music, drink some wine, do a hair mask. Yeah, a hot bath would calm his nerves and hopefully put him in the right headspace. 

After finishing dinner he moved his speaker into the bathroom and turned on his “Bops Only” playlist, cranking the volume up as loud as he could without risking a noise complaint. He filmed a blue-purple bath bomb fizzing and curling through the water for his snapchat story and then undressed, stretching his long tan limbs out as much as he could in the small tub. 

He briefly thought of the bath that had sat in Shiro’s palatial bathroom. It was wide and deep and long, its golden clawed feet like lion’s paws ready to pounce off the marble floor. There was little he wouldn’t give to be having his bubble bath there rather than in his fiberglass two-in-one shower. 

He picked up the glass of white wine he’d left perched on the toilet and took a long sip. 

Maybe he should look into art collecting. 

Somewhere on the floors below there was a loud slam. Probably Dr. Anna coming back from a long day working at the clinic. He should pay her a visit soon. 

Lance closed his eyes and let the blaring pop music vibrate deep in his bones, nostalgic for the summers and parties and car trips that had built the playlist. 

He missed college. He’d only attended for a year before deciding it wasn’t what he’d wanted to do, but he’d liked getting to be around so many people his own age, and he’d enjoyed his classes on Latin and biology. Maybe he would go back one day.

Probably not. He liked working at the flower shop. His manager Ella was sweet and had lent him as many books as he’d wanted on botany from the shop’s shelves, teaching him to trim bonsai and arrange flowers and transplant fragile root systems. He was really good at his job, he had a way with plants. Ella had even mentioned that, for the first time in the store’s history, it might be time to create an assistant manager position just for him. 

He had a home at The Enchanted Florist. Maybe not forever, but that was okay. He didn’t need to think about forever just yet. 

Lance finished his glass of wine and sat it down next to the shag carpet bath matt, humming along to early two-thousands Britney Spears. 

He was doing okay, weird flower-shop-visiting monsters be damned.

Another door slammed and a muffled shriek came from somewhere in the hall.

Lance hoped the family next door wasn’t holding another one of their giant parties. The last time one of their kids had had a birthday, the whole floor had been flooded with screaming children for hours, and the scent of pizza hadn’t left the hall for the rest of the day. 

Then he heard it. 

The same awful train whistle scream he’d heard in a few days earlier. 

Fumbling for his phone Lance forgot about his anxiety towards texting Shiro and he pinged the man his location, the only message attached reading ‘SOS’.

Then he was at a loss. The closest thing he had to a weapon in his bathroom was a loofa on a long wooden handle. He snatched it up and shakily rose from the water, breathing fast as he fumbled to tie a towel around his waist. 

He opened the bathroom door and flinched. His apartment door busted inwards as he watched, the heavy lock snapping out of place, laughably unhelpful in protecting him from danger. Barely able to control his mounting panic, he quietly shut the bathroom door and turned the little privacy lock. What else was there to do? He didn’t know how to fight, and he wasn’t even wearing pants. Fuck. Fuck! 

His living room was quiet, and still shaking he picked up his phone. The text he’d sent had ‘read at 7:44 pm’ next to it. Fucking  _ seriously? _

Should he call 911? No one would be able to get there fast and what if the monster was gone by the time they arrived? He’d look like an idiot. A wet, scared, naked one. 

Something toppled in his den and he heard the telltale smash of clay pottery. Great. He could only pray the thing had knocked over something hardy and not the succulents he was trying to propagate. Lance heard snuffling. 

Was it sniffing him out? Maybe the intense lavender bath bomb was masking his scent. He had just enough time to come up with a plan. 

Squatting down he quietly opened his bathroom cabinet, squinting at the spray bottle of Windex and then the toilet bowl cleaner. There! A small bottle of bleach he’d never opened. He hurriedly unscrewed the cap and peeled off the plastic seal, setting the open container on the counter and glancing towards the door, wishing he knew what was happening in the rest of his apartment. 

And for the first time in his life he regretted doing laundry, his hamper empty and all his clothing still in a laundry basket in his room. 

Just as he was considering the best way to weaponize toenail clippers, the light under the bathroom door disappeared, blocked by the creature who now stood outside. 

He swallowed and stood, armed with bleach and little else. 

The knob jiggled. And then all at once there was the snap of breaking metal and the door swung open. Lance screamed but managed to keep his eyes open as he tried to dump bleach on the most head-ish looking protrusion of the misshapen body. 

The monster let out its own hysterical yell, the glass in his mirror shattering, but the beach seemed to have irritated the thing enough that he had a chance. He sprinted past it out the broken door and into his living room, fight or flight roiling in his stomach, his ears ringing with the sonic blast. 

The creature recovered quickly and surged back into his den. With a strangled squeak he dove towards the kitchen, hoping to snag a knife. But his feet were still wet from the bath and he slipped, skidding on cheap linoleum and then falling. His head hit the ground hard, snatching the air from his lungs and filling his vision with black. 

Desperately he tried to stand but he couldn’t breath, he couldn’t see. His ears still rang with the shriek of the monster and he braced himself for whatever pain would come next. 

He heard the monster roar and then-

Nothing. 

The thing was grunting as if in pain and Lance pried his eyes open to see why, blinking away the darkness and watching in shock as the creature struggled in a mass of thick roping vines. The hanging ivy plant by his sink was swinging on its hook, it’s vines having grown by yards, seemingly in an instant, restraining the monster easily.

He had thrown his hand up unconsciously in defense and his palm itched with heat. 

There was another loud noise in the hall and Lance flinched, spurred into action and scrambling to hide behind the kitchen island. Something flashed bright, a light bulb of unnatural white filling the apartment for an instant. He could hear the monster howl in pain but he dared not look, reaching up to feel blood on his head. Blood? 

His stomach churned. And then all was quiet. 

“Lance?”

That stupid  _ fucking voice.  _

“Shiro.” He said the name like a curse, his tongue feeling to big in his mouth. 

Heavy steps approached from his right and turning to look made his vision blur again. He could feel heat running down his neck. His towel had fallen when he’d ran. 

“Lance!” 

Shiro crouched down in front of him, face awash with worry and panic. 

“Great. You’re here.” Lance wheezed, not hiding the fear and distrust in his voice. 

“You’re bleeding, we need to get you somewhere more secure.” The man stood, his prosthetic flickering purple for a moment. Maybe Lance had hit his head harder than he’d thought. 

“I don’t-” he abruptly realized he was naked and hugged his knees awkwardly. “I-”

Shiro disappeared and Lance closed his eyes, still feeling a little fuzzy and unsure what to say. Had his plant really grown into monster bondage? He had to be concussed. Or losing it. He peaked around the kitchen island. 

The monster was gone, dirt and what looked like ash left on his floor in a scattered pile, his ivy still drooping vines over his counter and towards the spot where the monster had stood. He’d fertilized the day before but- no. That was impossible, he’d had the plant for years, it was no Audrey II. 

Something soft wrapped around his shoulders and he blinked, surprised to see Shiro again.

“Hello?”

“Lance? It’s Shiro. I’m here now, you’re okay.”

“Why are you still here?”

“You hit your head, I think you might be concussed, hold on.” Shiro crouched and gently wrapped a blanket around his narrow shoulders, bundling him up and then lifting him into his arms. It was his favorite baby blue fleece, Lance realized dimly. He felt his stomach lurch. 

“Shiro?”

“Yes? I’m going to take care of you don’t worry, we just need to get moving.” 

“I’m naked.”

Shiro double checked that the blanket was strategically tucked around the man.

“Yes. I noticed.”

Lance hissed as Shiro began moving and he felt more blood roll down the side of his face.

“Perv,” he whispered.

The man let out a small laugh, his voice tight with worry. Lance’s eyes were closed and with the situation under control, Shiro glanced back towards the spot the monster had been standing when he’d come in. He’d been able to temporarily disband the Shapeshifter’s dark energy, but it wasn’t permanent. And he’d only been able to get a clean shot because of its perennial restraints.

As he slowly headed to the apartment door, not wanting to jostle Lance’s head unncessarily, he stared at the plant that seemed to have saved Lance’s life. Then he looked at the resting demi-god in his arms. 

The boy was powerful. All the more reason to get him taken care of quickly. 

Lance stayed quiet, not seeing as Shiro gently closed his apartment door, fixing the lock with a small wave of magic and hurrying to the stairs. 

“Where are we going?”

Shiro bit his lip. He had plenty of supplies and free access to his magic in Hades, and knew it would be safest to take Lance there, where nothing could pass into the world without his knowledge. But somehow he knew that answer might not sit well with a naked and injured young man. 

“Ah,” he held Lance a little tighter, nervous, “my home...it is secluded...you will be safe there, and I can get you the medical attention you need.”

Lance opened a bright blue eye and Shiro was reminded of the night they met. Only this time Lance wasn’t giggly and drunk, not cutely nuzzling close. 

“I should go to the hospital.”

“Yes, well.” He couldn’t really argue with that. Not without revealing more than he was comfortable with in public. “That is not an option for you, not under present circumstances.”

“You’re kidnapping me.” Lance said weakly. “I thought hot guys were only kidnappers in weird art films.”

“I promise you can leave once you are feeling better. When it is safe for you to.” 

“Right.”

Lance knew that Shiro could have hurt him already if that was his intention, but that didn’t mean he was feeling very trusting. At the same time, he didn’t know if he could stand, let alone get help or get to the emergency room. So he was at Shiro’s mercy. 

As Shiro’s warm hands cradled him in the soft blanket, the scent of his fancy cologne filling his nose as they stepped outside into the breezy night, he decided there were worse places to be. 

* * *

  
  


Shiro summoned his chariot and directed his horses to bring them back into the underworld as fast as possible, watching Lance for signs of slowed breathing or pain, but he seemed to be holding up alright. 

He thanked the chariot and the steads under his breath, waving open the doors to his castle and heading for his private wing. Seeing one of his servants, he requested that she find him clean cloth bandages and heat some water in a small basin. 

He laid Lance down on his bed, retrieving a small vial of ambrosia from his bedside drawer and touching Lance’s cheek. 

“Are you awake?”

“Hm?”

“I need you to drink this, it will help clear your head. It is medicine.” 

Lance opened his eyes and tried to sit up, face crumpling in pain. Shiro gently touched his shoulder.

“Relax, it’s just a little, don’t sit up. I’ll take care of you.” he promised softly. He uncorked the small vial and pressed the glass to his lips, relieved when Lance did not fight him and drank the golden fluid in an easy swallow. “Great. That should help soon. I’m going to look at your head now, okay? It might hurt.” 

“It already hurts.” Lance said grumpily, nose scrunching in discomfort.

“I know.” The god said gently, carefully parting his soft brown hair and studying the wound. It was a small gash, and while it had bled a lot, it seemed minor, all neurological symptoms aside. Looking at Lance to make sure he was still out of it Shiro closed his eyes and reached for his magic, letting the warmth of his power flow out of his fingers and into Lance’s skull, healing the damage and soothing the pain. Lance keened softly, the sound bringing color to Shiro’s cheeks as he worked. 

“What is that?”

“Just a heat pack,” Shiro lied, pulling his hands away.

The servant entered with the cloth and a bowl of hot water, setting both on the nightstand. 

“Is there anything else you need, sire?”

Shiro saw Lance tense and he swallowed around a lump of panic.

“No, this is great, thank you.” 

The woman left with a small bow and Shiro felt Lance’s eyes on him, accusatory. 

“Sire?”

“It’s...a joke. A sort of running gag?” Even he didn’t believe what he was saying. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Shiro sighed, dropping the facade and nodding. 

“I don’t blame you. I have not been honest, except in my intentions. I will tell you the truth, I promise you that. But first you need to rest and to heal.”

He turned and carefully dipped the cloth in the hot water, wringing it out and then turning towards the bed again. 

“I’m going to clean the blood from your hair and your neck. Can you turn?”

Lance did as he was asked, staying quiet but thinking so hard Shiro felt as if he could feel it when he touched his head. But he let the man be, gently wiping the blood off of his hair and running the washcloth down the soft skin of his neck. He was thorough and worked in silence, the only sound the dripping of water when he rinsed the cloth. 

He held his breath as he rubbed the cotton across Lance’s cheek, not wanting to hurt him but having to scrub a little since the blood was already sticky. Lance’s face was soft and his eyes fluttered when Shiro pulled lightly at the skin. 

This close up he could see small dark freckles dotting the skin around his nose and under his eyes. 

He made himself turn and switch to the next clean cloth to catch his breath. Lance was breathtaking. 

When Shiro was done he sat back, drying his hands and unthinkingly stroking Lance’s hair back into place, fingers trailing over where the wound had been, now just a pale scar hidden by wavy locks. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Naked. Vulnerable. Dizzy.”

“Well. I can help with one of those things, I think.” Shiro retrieved more clothing from his dresser, a black t-shirt and flannel pants. 

“Do you think you can dress yourself?”

“If I say no are you going to dress me?”

Shiro’s eyebrows wrinkled together in confusion at Lance’s expression. He couldn’t tell what the right answer was as he watched Lance’s eyes run down his torso.

“Uh...no?”

Lance slowly pushed himself up, the blanket pooling around his hips, and extended a hand for the clothing. 

“Oh. Underwear,” Shiro turned again, grabbing a navy pair at random. 

“Thanks.” Lance took them and slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. Shiro saw a glimpse of tan thighs and remembered the way lance had smelled of lavender in his arms. 

“I’ll wait in the other room-” Shiro felt his face grow hot. “Call me, when you’re dressed.”

He ducked into the parlor and paced the plush carpeting, looking around at his quarters as he tried to think what to do. The cat was more than out of the bag. The cat was being chased by a three headed dog through hell. 

He was going to have to tell Lance the truth. 

And then what? Monsters were coming after him and he wouldn’t be safe in the mortal realm, not without understanding his powers and his potential first at the very least.

He couldn’t keep Lance in Hades forever- even if that would keep him safe. 

But maybe for a little while.

Shiro rubbed a hand through his light hair. 

He could teach Lance who he was, how to use his powers as a demigod, how to defend himself and control his environment. Then, when Lance was stronger and could fend for himself, he would be free to do whatever he liked. 

Yes, that seemed the only reasonable thing to do. At least, he hoped Lance would see it that way. Because if the boy truly did not want to stay, he would never force him to. He’d clearly scared the boy plenty, and it was not his place to intervene. But if Lance left, he would be put back in mortal danger. 

“I’m decent!” Lance called through the door and Shiro caught himself smiling when he recognized some of Lance’s teasing personality in the words. 

He leaned in the doorway and gave him an earnest look. “Are you okay?”

“Better.” Lance nodded, the clothes dripping off his skinny frame. He was looking around at the bedroom now and Shiro was glad to see that the pain he’d felt earlier seemed to have dissipated. The concussion had been healed. “What medicine did you give me? I haven’t felt this good in months.”

“It’s sort of...homeopathic. A family recipe.” Shiro fidgeted with his astral hand, unused to keeping his arm summoned for so long. But there was no reason to get into the whole business before Lance had a chance to rest. 

“You know this would be something out of a horror film if you weren’t so polite.” Lance said, pulling his blanket around his shoulders again. “I mean it’s still kind of a slash-thriller but you haven’t slit my throat yet so I guess you can stay.” 

Shiro laughed, entertained by Lance’s gentle form of accusation. 

“I am sorry that this has happened to you. But I really am trying to help. I mean you no harm.” 

“Yeah I mean. So far.” Lance looked up at him shyly and then looked around his room.

“So art collectors live in mansions?”

“I don’t know. Maybe some do.” Shiro said truthfully.

“But you are not an art collector.” It wasn’t a question.

“No.” Shiro admitted, lowering his eyes to the floor. 

“ I really do feel better,” Lance said, touching his head. “It’s not even sore.”

“It was very good medicine.” the god stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Stop doing that. Stop lying. You said you’d tell me the truth.”

“You need to rest first.”

“But I feel fine!” Lance whined, crossing his arms. 

Shiro mimicked the gesture and felt a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

“In the morning I promise you can ask me anything you wish.”

“Can I ask one thing tonight?”

Shiro sighed and nodded once.

“Is this your room?”

Relieved Lance hadn’t asked something more pressing, Shiro nodded, looking self-consciously around. The sheets were a satin black, the whole room dark but tidy. Maybe a little drab, though luxuriously so if that was possible. 

“Yes.”

“Where will you sleep?”

In the sitting room. You can call if you need anything. I have some work to finish up anyway,” he promised. “It does not bother me to rest in there.” 

Lance chewed on his lip and Shiro only let himself watch for only a moment. 

“Okay. Goodnight then, Shiro.”

“Goodnight, Lance.” 

* * *

  
  


In Lance’s dreams the monster returned, chasing him through the streets while people with blank faces watched, none of them helping. He imagined the thing growing as large as buildings, suffocating him under hands of clay and ash, covering his eyes and swallowing the sun.

He woke with a start, shoving off the covers, feeling too hot and too overwhelmed by the silky sensation of the cloth. 

“Lance?”

Lance flinched, only relaxing when he saw the familiar figure in the doorframe. Shiro was shirtless and barefoot, his prosthetic gone, his hair a little ruffled up in the back. He looked softer than Lance had ever seen him, though his expression was anxious. 

“Are you alright?”

Lance came back to himself.

“I-yes. It was nothing, I’m sorry.”

“I heard yelling.”

“It was just a nightmare.” he pulled the sheets over himself again, feeling bare despite his baggy sleep clothing. 

Shiro’s face softened in understanding and something Lance could not name and he cautiously approached the bed. 

“Would you like to talk about it? Or maybe a distraction?”

“No-that’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“I am offering to help.” The man said gently, sitting near Lance’s feet. 

Lance thought about when he was younger and his mother would come to his room when he was sick and stroke his hair as he fell asleep, wishing she was here now. Wishing he could ask Shiro to touch him without it feeling too intimate a request. 

“Can you just...sit there for a moment?” he asked quietly, pressing his cheek into the pillowcase, embarrassed and wondering why this stranger who had only caused him trouble was now a calming presence. 

“Of course.” 

Lance felt him shift on the sheets and something nudged his knee. He could feel the warmth of his body through the covers. 

He felt bad for the way he had acted ungrateful and irritated by Shiro’s presence earlier. Clearly this man had saved his life, even if he was strange. And eccentric. And potentially dangerous. In all of the romance novels he’d stolen from his older sister Veronica, that was supposed to be hot. 

Feeling shallow, Lance realized that was kind of what it came down to. Aside from his gentle ministrations and courteousness, Shiro was beautiful, and that made him easier to trust. Easier to like. And now that his head felt normal once again, he found that he was comfortable and warm here, away from the noise of the city and the squeak of his second-hand mattress. 

“Shiro? When you killed the thing in my apartment...there was this light. Was that you?”

Shiro took a deep breath and looked at Lance in the dark, eyes tracing the dip and curve of his shoulders and waist beneath the covers. 

“Yes, Lance. That was me.”

“Was it magic?”

“Yes. Of a kind.”

“I think my plant had magic too. Did you use magic on my plant?”

“No,” Shiro said truthfully, wanting badly to reach out and touch Lances hair again. “Answers in the morning, Lance. Sleep. I will watch over you.”

“My creepy magic knight in shining armor.” Lance murmured against the pillow, stretching his leg out so he could feel Shiro through the covers again.

“Sure, Lance,” Shiro laughed warmly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Literally.”

Lance smiled and lifted his head to look at Shiro over his shoulder. 

“Stay in here?”

“I’m staying,” Shiro nodded. 

“No I mean. Sleep in here. Your bed is the size of Alaska. I think it will fit two.”

“I thought you thought I was a stalker and a kidnapper?”

“I do. But clearly I’ve suffered brain damage. And I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Alright.” 

Shiro moved in the dark, lying down a few feet from Lance, facing away so that the boy wouldn’t feel intruded upon. 

“This is the part in the rom-com where you gently spoon me when I’m half asleep.” Lance whispered. 

“Spoon?”

“Nevermind, Shiro. Goodnight.”

When Lance’s eyes closed, the monsters were not gone, but as he dreamed, he saw flowers and light, and things did not seem so hopeless.


End file.
